


True North

by yespolkadot_kitty



Category: The Equalizer (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Semi-Public Sex, Tent Sex, smut with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 08:33:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27348208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yespolkadot_kitty/pseuds/yespolkadot_kitty
Summary: Since then, David had been… Careful with you. Stepped away when you’d been too close to each other.Like he was a compass and perhaps, if he let himself, he would point towards you as true north.Once he’d caught you against him when you’d slipped on the rainy grass in the garden, your chest pressed to his, and he’d looked down and smiled at you, his eyes crinkled at the edges, and you’d had to look away, it was too much, he was too much.Thinking of how perhaps David would never make a move, you fall into a dreamless sleep.
Relationships: Dave York/Reader, Dave York/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 39





	True North

**Author's Note:**

> Every day I fall further into the Dave York Pit.

The campfire is dying down. Molly and Alice are tucked up in their pop-up tent, and about a half an hour ago, the sounds of their giggling and whispering, and not-well-concealed sweet-eating had subsided.

David sits an arm’s length from you, whittling something idly. You’re chatting about all kinds of inconsequential things, but your gazes keep meeting. The light from the dying flames bathes the planes and angles of his face in amber and gold, and touches on the copper in his deep brown hair.

You’ve been dancing around each other for about three months now.

When you’d met David, he was still reeling from his divorce. Pale and exhausted from hammering out custody agreements with his ex-wife, he’d hired you on because he’d been roped into an overseas job and needed someone to look after the girls.

Luckily, Molly and Alice were dream kids. Polite, bright, funny. They sometimes drove you mad, but it was normal for kids to push the envelope.

When David had suggested the camping trip, he’d added, “We’ll have separate tents. Of course,” but you’d seen something like  _ want _ cross his handsome face.

And you’d thought:  _ maybe this is it. _

Now, he stands up, sets aside the carving he’s toying with from part of an old fallen tree branch. The night is cool, but not unpleasantly so.

“I’m gonna turn in.”

You look up at him, hesitate. “Okay.”

David brushes a hand over your shoulder. In the distance, an owl hoots. The light from the full, waxy moon silhouettes him for a moment. “There are extra blankets in the car if you get cold.”

“Thanks.”

His hand stills on your shoulder for a second, and your eyes meet. His are a deep, warm chocolate brown, and you want to tell him everything you long for.

But the moment passes, and he nods briefly, then disappears inside his tent.

You sigh, hug yourself.

_ He’s divorced. _

You’re determined that David will make the first move. 

You want him to be ready to move on. You don’t want a flash in the pan; you’re falling in love with David’s daughters and maybe, with him, too.

There’s no noise from inside David’s tent. You put the fire out, wash your teeth, crawl inside your sleeping bag. It’s toasty and warm, and you wiggle your feet to the bottom to find a furry hot water bottle. David must have put it there. You smile. He might not be very verbally expressive, but he does little things like this. Things to show he cares.

Then again, perhaps he’s being nice and you’re reading  _ way  _ too much into it.

You hope not.

You still think about the first time you fantasized about him. Five months ago. He’d been going to some family wedding. The girls were downstairs with Carol, twittering excitedly, all doing their hair together.

You’d been coming out of the bathroom when David called your name. “Hey, can you come in here?”

You’d walked into the big master bedroom, light spilling in from the bay window. David stood by one of the big panes, wearing a charcoal grey suit, collar up while he’d tried to adjust a blood red tie.

“Can you give me a hand? Damn thing evades me every time.”

You assisted, glancing up at his face, freshly shaven, and he smelled of bergamot and a kiss of sandalwood, and you wanted to bite his neck almost more than you wanted your next breath.

They’d all left for the wedding, then, and as Carol drove away, David’s gaze had held yours in the passenger seat, all the way down the drive. The moment had been electric. You’d shut yourself in the bathroom, your hand down your pants, and rubbed yourself to a gasping orgasm.

Since then, David had been… Careful with you. Stepped away when you’d been too close to each other. 

Like he was a compass and perhaps, if he let himself, he would point towards you as true north.

Once he’d caught you against him when you’d slipped on the rainy grass in the garden, your chest pressed to his, and he’d looked down and smiled at you, his eyes crinkled at the edges, and you’d  _ had _ to look away, it was too much,  _ he _ was too much.

Thinking of how perhaps David would never make a move, you fall into a dreamless sleep.

*****

Some time later, you wake. The moon is lower in the sky. You sneak out to relieve yourself behind a big tree, and when you come back, you see the light on in David’s tent. Idly, you imagine what he might be doing. Reading, probably. 

You lie back down and try to think slumberous thoughts - sheep? - but to no avail, and you stare at the ceiling, trying to decide whether or not an orgasm will make you tired enough to sleep until dawn.

Then you hear it.

A rustling outside.

A raccoon? A bird?

The zip of your tent creeps up.

David whispers your name. “You awake, honey?”

“I’m awake,” you whisper back.

“Can I come in?”

“Um.. okay,” you whisper-squeak, because of all the ways you’d fantasized being alone with David, this was  _ not _ one of them.

The zip comes all the way up and David’s head pokes through the opening. He has impressive bedhead, and he looks ruddy-faced and sleepy. His sweater is thick and dove grey, the neck unzipped to reveal a teal t-shirt.

You shiver. “Get in here, you’re letting the cold in.”

“Sorry.”

He turns and pulls the zip down behind him.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

You shake your head. “I woke up and… dunno. Strange bed. Thanks for the hot water bottle.”

“No problem. The girls like ‘em.” He crouches awkwardly, then: “I was thinking about you. I mean - seems like I’m always thinking about you.”

All the air seems to disappear from inside the tent. David’s face is earnest in the soft glow from your phone’s nightlight, his eyes soulful brown, bottomless.

“Really?” you whisper-squeak, again, painfully aware that the girls are asleep ten feet away.

“I’ve noticed you. Looking at me,” he continues, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “And I wondered-”

“Yes,” you blurt out, scared that if you duck out now, he might never speak up again. “Yes.”

And then he’s  _ on you, _ his body covering yours as he tugs you close and his lips are on yours, firm and warm and he tastes of toothpaste and the outdoors, and you open for him, winding your hands around his neck and up into his thick, soft hair.

“ _ David, _ ” you whisper.

“Oh, honey.” He gathers you close and you climb into his lap and you kiss like that for the longest time, tasting each other, David’s hands splayed over your back, and when he buries his face in the crook of your neck and murmurs, “ _ fuck,  _ I want you,” kissing isn’t enough.

“Please,” you groan. “Please, we might not get another-” and then you’re both suddenly sprawled on your mess of sleeping bag and blankets, and David’s body covers yours, and the line of his cock is hot and heavy against your belly and you unthinkingly arch up, and he moans.

“ _ Fuck, _ you’re killing me.”

His words make you wetter, and you paw at his sweater. He chuckles, but in a sweet way, like he can’t believe you want him, this middle-aged father with two half-grown kids and messy hair. 

Together you undress each other, his sweater first, then his t-shirt, and you spread your hands over his chest, tan and broad, and map a nasty curved scar just below his heart, and wonder for the twentieth time just what his job is-

“My turn,” he breathes, and he coaxes off your layers one of by one, until you’re topless beneath him, and his gaze goes dark and hot before he moves down your body, his day’s worth of stubble tickling as he mouths at your nipples, already hard and aching.

You gasp.

“Shhh,” he soothes. “We’ve gotta be quiet.”

You bite your lip because you  _ don’t _ want to be interrupted.

He spends a long time exploring your breasts. The curves, the nipples, until your hands are fisted on his shoulders. Through his jeans, his dick is rock hard against your thigh, and, wanting to move things along, you slide one hand down to cup him, feel the shape and heft and heat of him.

He jerks against you. “ _ Fuck.  _ Not yet.”

“Now,” you counter, palming him greedily. You’ve waited too long to be patient. He thrusts into your hand a few times, panting, and then he rolls over and shoves jeans, boots and underwear off. Then he’s gloriously naked, and you wish you had daylight to admire the lean lines of him, the soft slope of his belly, the proud curve of his cock, so ready for you.

You push off the rest of your clothes and grab for him, and he fits between your legs perfectly. You lay together for a long moment, his dick heavy on your belly, and you curl your fingers around him as he kisses your neck, and groans your name.

“Want you,” you whisper. “Ready.”

He smiles against your neck. “You could be more ready.” And he commando-crawls down your body, pressing kisses as he goes, then firmly spreads your legs. And then he licks you. Slowly at first, methodically, learning what makes you gasp, what makes your hands clench on his shoulders. What makes you keen and bite your lip. What makes your thighs tremble. And then, when you teeter on the precipice, his name on the tip of your tongue, he lifts himself up and pushes into you.

The stretch is  _ divine. _ Your legs instinctively wrap around his hips and he bites off a curse, burying his face in your neck. His breaths turn into pants as he surges into you again and again, your name falling from his lips like a long forgotten but beloved prayer. You hold him close with everything you have, and then he eases one hand between your bodies and strums your sweet spot, the place he’d tortured with his tongue earlier, and your muscles flutter around him. You sob his name into his shoulder.

“ _Honey,_ ” he breathes, and his hips stutter, and he makes to pull out. “No condom. Stupid. I gotta-”

“Pill,” you mutter back, your heels on his ass. “Wanna feel you.”

“Oh,  _ fuck,” _ he bites off, and then he’s jackhammering into you and the pressure is  _ pure bliss,  _ and he presses his face into your neck as he comes, as he coils and shudders, and you stroke his back through it.

Afterwards, you curl your entire body around him, making it clear you don’t want him to go anywhere.

“Just so you know,” he mutters, when he’s recovered, “I had a plan.”

“Oh yeah?”

“The girls are going to stay with their Mom next month. I was gonna invite you over.”

You chuckle, feeling warm, happy, tired, a good tired. “Couldn’t wait?”

He sighs. “I had to know. If you were lying over here thinking the same things.”

“I was.” You shiver then, snuggle in.

“You’ll catch a cold.” He opens the sleeping bag. It’s a large one, so it’s a tight fit, but you manage to wiggle in. You’re both still naked but your body heat spreads quickly, and you sigh, happy, sleepy. 

“You’d better keep me warm,” you quip, but it comes out on a yawn.

David laughs softly, and yawns himself, cuddling you close. You lazily trace the scar on his chest. 

“Where’d you get this?”

“I’ll tell you some time. Sleep, honey. In a few hours we’ll have two rowdy girls to chase around.”

You reach over and flick off your phone’s soft, nightlight glow. 

David kisses your hair and you breathe him in, woodsmoke and toothpaste and sandalwood, and then, with the pads of your fingers tracing over his heart, you sleep.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
